


We Sing We Dance We Steal Hearts

by ryukoishida



Series: Sing When You're In Love [1]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Idol AU, M/M, Modern Era, Rimming, Sexy Times, idol!Gieve, musician au, singer-songwriter!Isfan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gieve invites Isfan over the night before his first big concert as a solo artist, and he honestly doesn’t expect the evening would involve three hours of Just Dance and so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Sing We Dance We Steal Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> The AU is first inspired by "AS IT IS" (from Kyoukai no Kanata), sung by Gieve’s seiyuu, KENN. But I feel like "Honey! Honey! Trap!" (from StarMyu) fits Gieve’s musical style even more in terms of lyrics. There’s also a list of songs (http://innerchorus.tumblr.com/post/136260042089/ryukoishida-i-was-looking-to-see-if-i-can-find) that Konishi Katsuyuki – Isfan’s seiyuu – has sung but I have yet to find something that matches what I have in mind for his musical style. I’d say I’m sorry for creating this self-indulgent AU, but I’m really not, so. [sends self to hell]

“One more round…”

 

“Wha –– Isfan! No. No way. We’ve been at it for almost three hours now. Aren’t you exhausted?”

 

“I must achieve victory at least once,” Isfan’s amber eyes are flaring with determination, face flushed, skin shimmering a little with a thin layer of sweat under the blue-white fluorescent light, and strands of auburn hair escaping from his ponytail from the exertion, all courtesy of a video game called Just Dance 2015. He’s pointing his WiiU controller threateningly towards the other man, who has plummeted face-first into the soft cushions of the couch with an exaggerated groan that’s mostly muffled, but Gieve is certain that the not-so-subtle hint will be enough.

 

“Need I remind you that in approximately…” Gieve rolls over and gives a brief glance at the clock on the wall hung above his television, which helpfully informs him that it’s currently 2:43 in the morning, “…five hours, I’ll need to get up to get ready for the concert run-down?”

 

“Who invited me over?”

 

“I did.”

 

“Who said they wanted to play video games so that they can unwind for a little bit?”

 

Gieve’s bottom lip juts out just the slightest, and the expression is not unlike a displeased child being reprimanded for something minor, at least from the perspective of the child. “I did.”

 

“Well, then,” Isfan’s expression seems to show absolute triumph, and he tosses the second controller vaguely aiming at the man still curling on the cushions of the sofa, which Gieve catches without a pause.

 

“Well, nothing!” Gieve rolls off the couch, elegant even in such an awkward position, and gets to his feet, placing the game controller firmly back on the coffee table where he last left it, sea-green eyes staring up defiantly at the taller brunet. “If I have a slip-up tomorrow because of a reason as ridiculous as playing a dancing video game all night long just to indulge my boyfriend’s childish whims, my reputation as a bishonen pop star will be ruined and my fangirls will all despise me and cast me to the side like trash. Will you be responsible for my livelihood then? What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“Bed time. Now.” Isfan’s response is immediate – not because he has given up on a rematch, but because he knows from past experiences that, once Gieve reaches a certain level of exhaustion, he tends to ramble a lot and it takes too much energy to shut him up at that point – but he does add as a second thought, his lips twisting into an unhappy sulk, “And I’m not childish.”

 

“I hate to break it to you, my darling,” Gieve saunters close with an amused grin as he cradles his lover’s face within his palms, squishing his cheeks playfully as he tiptoes upward to place a kiss on his cheek and whisper close to his ear, “but you can be adorably childish and incredibly tenacious when it comes to video games. It’s cute.”

 

The dark-haired musician even has the audacity to send him a sassy wink when he leans away and takes a step back, his mouth stretched into a bright grin that makes the teal of his eyes dance merrily.

 

With a cheerful trill of laughter that’s too infectious for Isfan to hold back a smile of his own, Gieve laces his fingers, long and elegant and calloused, with Isfan’s and leads them towards his bedroom. “Even though you’ll never beat me at Just Dance, you know you’re still the winner of my heart, right?”

 

Isfan doesn’t need to see his lover’s face to be able to imagine Gieve’s poised grin in the dip and rise of his tone.

 

Half a year ago, he would have done everything to walk away from this dangerous man – all boisterous laughter, obnoxious purple hair that seamlessly compliments his bubble-gum pop music, attractive voice that delivers saccharine flirtatious words as easily as he perfectly hits high notes in a song, and a dazzling, gregarious social butterfly whose unstoppably bright personality attracts media and public’s spotlights and ignites fellow artists’ envy alike.

 

Half a year ago, he would have snorted, unimpressed at the notion of willingly working with one of this nation’s most popular idol and musician of the season because the two men’s philosophy of the music industry and artistry is too different.

 

Of course, half a year ago, Isfan doesn’t know Gieve well, so he merely has the exaggerated and likely-false rumors within the entertainment circle to assess him from. For their managers to agree on a cooperative project without first soliciting the artists’ opinions – with Isfan crafting the melody and Gieve writing the lyrics and performing the song – it had been a risky and possibly disastrous decision right from the start, but in a strange way, the two of them, as unlikely a pair as they are, had come together through this frayed string of fate.

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Isfan rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but he tugs him back with such a sudden jerk that Gieve loses his balance and falls against the firm plane of his chest. With possessive arms wrapped around the slighter musician’s waist, the brunet lowers his head so he can murmur by Gieve’s ear, puffs of warm air moistening the sensitive skin there, “I demand rematch of another sort.”

 

Isfan’s intention is clear in the way his arms tighten around his frame, and despite knowing that he’ll have to drag himself out of bed in less than five hours, it’s physically impossible for Gieve to deny him of anything when they’re this physically close, Isfan’s lips peppering barely-there kisses along the junction between his neck and shoulder and darting out his tongue with small, unhurried licks that ends with a gentle bite to the nape of his neck after Isfan sweeps his hair out of the way.

 

“Ah… You’re trouble,” Gieve tells him with a hitched sigh, fingers grasping around the other man’s forearms and head turned slightly to the side, and though his voice appears to remain composed, the tremors along his body is unmistakable. “You don’t look like it – with your unrequited love ballads and your contemporary folk-rock bullshit – but that’s exactly what you are.”

 

“Please,” Isfan drawls with a lazy smirk, and guides him to turn around, a finger hooked under Gieve’s chin so that he can tilt his head up, his golden irises glimmering and his stare altering between Gieve’s glazed dark eyes and his sculpted, parted lips, lovely and pink and begging to be kissed. “Have you seen yourself?”

 

“Hmm. Gonna do something about it?” Gieve’s smirk is challenging and the way he deliberately licks his lower lip is anything but coy; it seems like his previous insistence to sleep has all but vanished. With a hand wind to the back of Isfan’s head, fingers digging into his thick tawny locks, Gieve pulls him down to his eye level, their lips hovering close but not touching, hot breaths merging.

 

“I thought you want to go to bed,” Isfan teases.

 

“Not anymore,” Gieve breathes out when he senses Isfan tracing a thumb along his lower lip and staring with voracious amber eyes when Gieve darts out the tip of his tongue to lick the pad of his finger before he takes in the entire digit, sucking and humming appreciatively while his sea-green eyes flutter close.

 

Isfan finds his breathing growing a little shallower, pulse thrumming as he imagines what else that sharp tongue is capable of.   

 

“God, you’re impossible,” Isfan murmurs, pulling his finger out and dragging a wet trail from the corner of Gieve’s mouth down the length of his neck, and finally resting his hand on the back of the dark-haired man’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

 

It’s languid and slow-burning, their kisses merely gentle waves and swelling tides that pull them closer, chest bumping against chest and fingers clutching the fabric of their wrinkled shirts; it’s different from their usual quick fumbles in the company’s change room or the frenzied sex they sometimes have just for the pure desire to break down each other’s will and the desperation to release.

 

They stumble into Gieve’s bedroom this way – tripping a little and gasping out a laugh before it’s swallowed by the other’s mouth, lips constantly searching for skin to mark, and hands moving in quick work to remove each other’s clothing. By the time Isfan gently pushes the dark-haired man onto the mattress, Gieve scooting back a little and his chest is heaving raggedly, a few tendrils of his violet hair falling haphazardly into his eyes, half-mast and darkened with a sort of hunger that Isfan is all too familiar with, both men are only in their undergarments, their arousal painfully obvious and straining against the restrictive piece of clothing.

 

Isfan climbs onto the bed after Gieve, straddling the man’s waist as he lowers himself, fingers lacing Gieve’s loosely and pulling his arms over his head, and the brunet lavishes his neck with more aggressive kisses, nipping at his skin and then lapping the sting with the flat of his tongue. He trails lower, down to his collar bone where Isfan spends a brief moment softly tracing the elegant lines with his tongue, fingers moving down Gieve’s arms, nails dragging down his ribs, causing the man below him to writhe around at the ticklish sensation, but Isfan holds his hips down firmly as he takes a dusty pink nipple into his mouth.

 

Above him, Gieve sucks in a hitched breath, one hand finding its way into Isfan’s hair and loosening the elastic that has been keeping his hair in a low ponytail, and as his caramel-toned locks tumble over his broad shoulders, Gieve catches a lock between his fingers and tucks it behind Isfan’s ear.

 

The brunet glances up at the touch, startled and blinking his black-gold eyes, and while carefully observing his facial expressions, Isfan tweaks one nipple with his fingers and swirls his tongue around the musician’s other one until they turn hard and sensitive.

 

Gieve is surprisingly quiet while Isfan is playing with his nipples, and when the brunet’s gaze wanders back up, he realizes that the dark-haired man has been muffling his own sounds all this time by putting his arm across the lower half of his face. His cheeks and the milky skin that extends southward are flushing a lovely pink and a thin sheen of sweat has begun to cover his body, yet it’s shocking how the usually loud-mouthed musician hasn’t released a screech or a peep yet.

 

Isfan decides that this needs to be rectified immediately, and so he strays lower, shuffling down Gieve’s body in fluid movements as his hands guide Gieve’s legs further apart so he can settle in between more comfortably. He begins to place kisses – light and gentle like the quivering of a butterfly’s wings – along Gieve’s inner thighs, interchanging with wet sucking, teeth pressing urgently into the supple flesh, that will surely leave a smattering of red and purple bruises behind.

 

He’s never been the possessive type – at least Isfan doesn’t think of himself as such – but this was all before Gieve came along. These days though, whenever he sees avid fans – boys and girls alike – flocking to his lover like he’s an especially enticing flower, Isfan cannot tame the churning waves of anxiety and envy that seem to devour him alive at times, the creeping sense of unease, like a particularly persistent spirit that chases after him, always an unwanted companion dwelling in the shadow of his mind.

 

Satisfied when he sees the blooming bruises littering the pale skin of his legs, Isfan dips a teasing finger into the waistband of the other man’s underwear, and he drifts close to Gieve’s apparent arousal, the cotton already darkened from a wet spot, and gives his covered length an experimental lick.

 

“Hng!” Gieve’s fingers in Isfan’s hair tighten, and it’s almost painful – but the brunet only grins, and dives in for another taste with a low growl in his throat, fingers hooking the waistband and pulling the offending garment down.

   

“Is…fan…” Gieve pants, swallowing hard when he feels his lover breathing on his flushed cock, the tip drooling pre-cum and making a sticky mess on his abdomen. The heat is agonizing, and every inch of his skin feels like it’s been set ablaze; every touch of Isfan’s fingers, every exhale that flows across the surface of his skin, and every lick of his tongue disperses sparks of electricity that runs and submerges into his blood and along his spine, causing his body to curve and arch to Isfan’s touch.

 

Without a word, Isfan swallows him, dark eyes glancing up to see that Gieve has his eyes squeezed shut, teeth snagging at his lower lip in a weak attempt to keep the sounds in, but as he begins to suck him in earnest, cheeks hollowed and the filthy sounds of slurping ricocheting within the bedroom, it’s clear that Gieve is unfurling, his hips pushing upward to seek more friction that Isfan is deliberately refusing him when he gradually slows down to tiny, playful licks along the underside of his cock.

 

Since he’s been so preoccupied with all the attention Isfan has been giving to his front side, Gieve doesn’t realize that the brunet is already tracing his index finger around his entrance until he feels the slight burn and stretch of the tip entering him.

 

“Fucking…tease,” the dark-haired musician scolds in between ragged gasps, his lips raw and swollen from being bitten so much.

 

“What’s wrong, Gieve?” Isfan almost wants to give in at the sight of his lover like this – wrecked, sprawled across his bed in a tangle of sheets with his cock dripping and ready, and utterly ruined – but he wants more, and he knows Gieve can take more, too. “You’re usually pretty loud.”  


“S-shut up. I need to take care of my voice so I don’t mess up my throat tomorrow, don’t I?”

 

“This won’t do,” the brunet has the decency to shake his head at him mockingly, as if Gieve has given him the wrong answer to a redundantly simple question. “I want to hear the sounds you make when you’re like this…shaking and desperate with my fingers inside you…” As if to prove his point, Isfan puts a second finger in and curls them slightly, finding the spot that makes Gieve sees stars and causes the fiery sparks to skitter up his spine in a blinding flare. Gieve’s hips curve up from the mattress and he glares at his lover accusingly, though both of them can hear the very much indecent mewl that escapes Gieve’s throat.

 

Isfan counts that as a small victory. “Perhaps a change of tactics is in order.”

 

“What are you scheming?” There’s a small scowl on his brows, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. If anything, it’s just driving Isfan to want to unravel the man further, until he can’t think or breathe or speak – until he can’t think of anything but him alone.

 

“Unlike you, I don’t scheme,” Isfan tells him with a sweet smile, and laying his gentle hands on the other man’s sides, he guides Gieve to flip over so that he’s lying face down with his hips up. “I plan meticulously, and then I carry out said plan.”

 

From the bedside table, Isfan picks up a bottle of lube and covers his fingers with the gel. With his dry hand, he traces the knobs of Gieve’s spine, taut and curved in such an elegant arc, until he reaches dangerously close to where Gieve needs Isfan to be, but of course Isfan stops right there, close but not even close enough.

 

“Isfan, stop fucking ar –– ” Gieve starts to say, but he doesn’t get to finish because he thinks his brain might have short-circuited when he feels something wet and deliriously soft invading his hole. He hisses at the strange sensation – hot and stinging and oddly pleasant – and the realization that Isfan is using his tongue to lick him open makes his cock impossibly harder than before.

 

Gieve buries his face into the soft fabric of his pillow to muffle the groans that’s slipping out, but the wet, filthy sounds of Isfan eating him out – his warm tongue swirling around the rim with just enough pressure to rile Gieve up but never enough to tip him over the edge before purposefully dipping his stiffened tongue in further, probing in deeper with an enthusiastic guttural growl in his throat until the dark-haired musician is shaking so violently he can feel the muscles in his limbs giving out as he struggles to hold himself up.

 

As if Isfan can sense it, he wraps an arm securely around Gieve’s middle to keep his upper body steady and scatters light kisses along his lower spine.

 

“Gieve, help me out here,” the brunet whispers as he pushes two slicked fingers easily into his lover’s entrance while he continues as if he’s carrying a conversation about the weather outside, “How am I supposed to know that I’m satisfying you if you don’t make any sounds?”

 

“Y-you know very well that… hah… that…hnnnng fuck…” Gieve loses his trail of thought and the ability to form words when Isfan twists his fingers inside him to repeatedly hit that spot over and over again, and there’s nothing Gieve can do but releases a slew of long, drawn-out moans consisting mostly of broken curses and some semblance of Isfan’s name.

 

“Yeah, come on, let me hear you,” Isfan encourages him, his breaths liquid flames against Gieve’s sensitive skin around his abused hole. His lowered voice drags against gravel, and he takes hold of Gieve’s leaking cock in a firm grip, pumping him with a steady pace and a tight, warm fist that matches the frantic rhythm of his fingers thrusting in and out.

 

Isfan’s own arousal is straining tight against his underwear, and he feels himself stiffen even more when he senses Gieve tightening around his fingers, his hips pushing downward into his fist to seek release, streaks of tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes when he cranes his neck to look at Isfan with such raw desperation and need, the black and teal of his irises conveying unsaid sentiment and unbridled lust.

 

“Isfan…Is –– fan, please… I need to –– ah…” The sight of Gieve crying his name in shattered syllables with such abandon stirs something deep within him, his heart thudding strong and erratic that it almost overwhelms him, seeing him breaking down like this.

 

“I know, Gieve, I know. You’re doing so well,” Isfan praises him softly, and rewards his lover’s vocal cries with a long, deliberate lick along his perineum while stroking him with a renewed vigor and zeal.

 

“Come for me,” Isfan whispers into his sweat-slicked skin, glimmering weakly under the dimmed lighting of the room, and Gieve does because he can’t deny him of anything when they’re this intimate, skin on skin, when Isfan asks him with that voice – spine winded taut and tight like a bow and fingers grasping handfuls of sheets in his fists, moans of Isfan’s fragmented name tasting unbelievably sweet and tart on his tongue when he spills warm and wet into Isfan’s hand.

 

When Isfan has drained him dry, Gieve’s frame is still slightly shivering, his throat raw and used, and the brunet lays the other man down on his back, cleans them both up with a discarded shirt, and holds the smaller man close to him, Gieve’s back snugly fitted against his chest and his head tucked under the crook of Isfan’s chin.

 

“What about you?” Gieve blinks heavily when he finally finds the ability to speak. There’s a hint of tickly soreness in his throat that he knows would worsen in the morning, but right now, with a sort of pleasant haziness in his mind and the radiating heat of Isfan’s body surrounding him, he simply can’t find it in himself to give a damn.

 

“Hmm?” Isfan brings his arm up to trace random patterns along the skin of Gieve’s abdomen, nails raking up and down and the dark-haired musician shiver in his arms.

 

“You still haven’t…” He pauses there and shuffles back, his hand wandering to his lover’s still clothed erection that has softened only slightly.

 

Isfan releases a stuttering breath and swallows.

 

“You have a long day ahead, so don’t worry about me,” he kisses the nape of Gieve’s neck tenderly, just a light touch of lips.

 

“Tomorrow then, after the concert,” Gieve promises as he snuggles closer to Isfan.

 

“Hmm, yeah. I’m looking forward to it – the concert and the after-party.”

 

-

 

“Gieve-san, what happened to your voice?” One of the assistants asks with alarm when the popular idol has greeted her with a hoarse voice and an unmistakably sore throat.

 

“It’s a long story,” Gieve’s voice cracks unpleasantly even after he coughs a few times behind his arm to try to clear his throat.

 

“But what will we do about the concert tonight? You can’t perform with your voice like this! Has Farangis-san been notified yet?”

 

“She’ll kill me when she finds out,” he replies, eyes growing wide in panic as if he’s just realized the problem at hand.

 

“ _If_ she finds out, you mean,” Isfan joins in the conversation as he steps out of one of the many offices in the Ecbatana Notes headquarters.

 

“Isfan-san, good morning!” The assistant greets the singer-songwriter with a bright grin.

 

It’s been a well known fact within the company that Isfan and Gieve are rivals-turned-friends, but the rumors of their colourful arguments stemmed from their artistic differences have been circulating around for so long that some staff and artists still find it amazing, or amusing, that the two musician end up having such a close and friendly working relationship. Of course, what most of them don’t know is that they’re much, much closer than they’ve been letting on.

 

“Good morning,” Isfan nods his greeting with a polite smile.

 

“I should go check on the costumes and make sure they have all the props ready for tonight,” the assistant mutters as she checks the time on her cellphone and begins to dash off with a hurried goodbye.

 

“Thanks for your hard work!” Gieve shouts weakly at the woman’s retreating figure.

 

Along the hectic hallway, men and women in suits come and go without batting an eye at the idol who’s about to release his second solo album and the singer-songwriter who won last year’s new artist award at Japan Record Awards.

 

Wordlessly, Isfan pulls the other man to a smaller corridor before Gieve can protest.

 

“Here,” Isfan hands him a small bottle of pills and a travel mug, which Gieve receives with a quizzical raise of his eyebrows.

 

“Corticosteroid and honey lemon water for your throat,” Isfan explains with a grin, and the curve of his lips turns mischievous when he leans in close to his ear, “As an apology for last night.”

 

“You don’t sound sorry at all,” Gieve jabs the brunet’s arm with his elbow, but he’s smiling despite himself.

 

“You caught me,” Isfan laughs, deep and rumbling and the familiar flicker of warmth starts in the depth of Gieve’s chest, and he kisses his lover’s cheek lightly before stepping away.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy new year, y’all! May 2016 be filled with more Arslan Senki, more beauty that is Gieve and Isfan and his two baby wolves, and more lovely people joining this fandom!


End file.
